


To Tincture His Touch

by JamesJenkins9



Category: The Neverending Story - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Berlin (City), Boys' Love, Bromance, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Dirty Thoughts, Erotica, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Germany, Hearing Voices, Heat Stroke, Home, Imagination, Lust, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Out of Body Experiences, Summer, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Trust, Wet Dream, wet skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesJenkins9/pseuds/JamesJenkins9
Summary: Bastian has a mystifying moment in time with an old friend from his past whom he has missed greatly.
Relationships: Atréju | Atreyu/Bastian Balthasar Bux
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	To Tincture His Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Bastian/Atreyu story. Have shipped them ever since seeing the 1984 film and even more after reading the novel. The story takes place during Bastian's sophomore year of High School. Let me know what you think in a review, I will happily write more stories on this wonderful pairing. I do not own "The Neverending Story" or its characters.

It was a typical mid-June Sunday in Berlin, the temperature in the city exceeding one hundred degrees Fahrenheit with all-too-familiar ease. The tiny studio apartment was not far from becoming a bathhouse, since the building's construction made it overly prone to retaining heat more than necessary. The lack of electricity meant a lack of air conditioning; even the large fan on the dresser at the foot of the bed wasn't of much help.

That the building's water was turned off for repairs when a sudden lack of electricity struck the neighborhood made the situation even more harrowing.

Over two hours later, the situation was well beyond _harrowing_.

With all the sweat upon his body, 16-year-old Bastian Balthazar Bux may as well have been in a bathhouse.

Even with the single west-facing window open as wide as possible and the blinds closed, sunlight continued to heat his moderately small apartment. Laying nude upon the bed, he cursed his Dad quietly again for picking an apartment on the south side of the building - just perfect for catching and retaining the afternoon beams of golden-hot light, the carpet and the white walls making it so that the intense heat couldn't flow out before 10 AM, when the entire reheating process started again.

At that moment, Bastian felt like leftover roast being reheated in an oven.

The blue sheet underneath him felt damp from his constant adolescent perspiration; while soft, the pillow beneath his head felt just as wet. A very faint waft of cool air nudged the blinds gently, but wasn't powerful enough to fully cast away the extempore furnace and provide his body with a much-needed cool relief.

Even Bastian's short-cut brunette hair felt heavy and disheveled with sweat. At the very least, it would be nice to feel so sweaty after having been involved in some bedroom antics, but he couldn't even enjoy that thrill.

He could not even begin to muster up enough energy to even attempt any creative writing. If someone wanted to fuck him now, he could only lay there and flop around like a stray fish having fallen on dry land.

The boy was completely wet, yet not where he often wanted to feel wet.

Bastian felt so hot that he was almost certain his guts were being grilled inside him. That would certainly bring a new meaning to the word _BBQ_.

The thought caused a thin smile to form upon his lips, yet even that minor act drained additional energy from him.

Bastian's mind began to succumb to the heat at last. He felt his dark-brown eyes growing heavy, his body's method of shutting down all the _remedial_ aspects of his person to save whatever scarce energy it could find in the recesses of his body. Without the sense of sight, Bastian's other senses tried to compensate, but due to the lack of energy, they were futile. If this were the final tale in a visit to Fantastica, he would be missing his friend Falkor, the Luck Dragon.

He tried to imagine himself as Atreyu, one of his most trusted friends and allies in Fantastica, but apparently that part of his mind had been shut down as _remedial_ in an effort to maintain energy.

As his body began to feel _separate_ , a murky haze clouded his senses. Bastian floated in the haze, unable to truly make sense of his present experience.

With reason and logic washed out reality's rain spout, he thought he felt a soft caress against the haze of his sparking senses - brief, passing, elusive. A few moments later, it returned, briefly caressing the opacity before dissipating once more.

The next caress broke through the cloud and felt real, tangible against his moistened cheek. Bastian's eyes snapped open, but he was still completely alone in his overheating apartment.

Gentle touches upon his eyelashes effectively pulled Bastian's eyelids shut. Something felt familiar about the touches, the gentleness, the boldness, the sincere treatment afforded to him, causing him to relax and ignore the warning signals emitted from the deepest depths of his aroused consciousness.

The gentle caresses resumed, concentrating on Bastian's face. It was as if he was being tenderly touched by his dream lover's fingers, yet even more gently than he'd ever experienced from any of the many boys or girls he dated in school. Each caress softly teased his wet skin, sending signals of pleasure down to his center, causing a different and more satisfying euphoria to form and pool within his manhood. Each touch also sent a rush of comfort and serenity surging through his being like an ocean symphony, flooding and absorbing his mind so that it effectively shut out all worries.

Bastian was fully aware of everything, but also nothing. Time accelerated, yet calmed so much that each breath released from his chest left a _presence_ for hours. His body floated on currents of scorching air, yet he was firmly rooted to the smelly wet sheet beneath his sweat-covered slender form. Each caress was fleeting, yet manifest.

"Bastian," a faint semi-whisper sounded within his mind. Instantly, his body became even more content, causing every muscle to instantly become as light as a feather plucked from a pillow. The _voice_ was quite familiar, yet he was unable to remember why.

A gentle squeeze of each nipple distracted him from remembering. The next touch was between Bastian's legs, spreading the combined fluids from within his cock and on the outside.

"This is for being a loyal friend to me, Bastian."

Despite his hands resting peacefully at his side, Bastian felt as if a single finger was being slowly maneuvered into him, causing more of his cum to escape him. After a moan at the initial penetration, Bastian opened his eyes and tried to raise his head to look down his body, but found he couldn't. Just as fear began to worm into his mind, he felt as if another finger was gently stroking across his cock.

Electric charges seemed to emanate from his erogenous zones throughout Bastian's body. Despite knowing that this really shouldn't be happening, all sane thought was lost to him, blown away by the wonderful pleasure he was feeling by otherworldly means. His young body was essentially **frozen** \- with no logical explanation for this occurrence - so that his only possible reactions were increased breathing and hungry moans.

A second digit slowly pressed into him, causing a louder sound to escape his lips. Bastian could feel his fingers trying to curl to grasp the sheet beneath him, but they refused - they wouldn't allow it - moving as the baffling seduction continued. He could only move his chest - rib case rising and falling with his rocketing breathing, and Bastian's fingers were quivering just slightly with the resultant movement - as the _stranger's_ fingers began to plunge faster and deeper into him, curling so that they would always rub across his G-spot.

"Relax, Bastian. Enjoy. This is for you my friend. This is for your faith and friendship so long ago. This is the best way I know how to honor you."

With that voice-thought in his head, Bastian lost complete track of everything not directly centered around his private area. The fingers danced inside him at near-blistering speed as other fingers glided across his cock like a professional artist's expert brush strokes. The intensity of the pleasure was overwhelming. Repeatedly, each pore of his being exploded in a near-continuous wave of orgasms which bombarded his senses, yet his body still wouldn't - still couldn't resist - thrashed about erratically from the extreme maelstrom of the animal pleasure wracking his body. With what little logical thought his mind could summon, he was unsure whether the screams were from his own throat or simply screams made in his head because his throat was too busy bringing more air to his suddenly-depleted lungs.

When Bastian's senses returned to him, it was dark, with the scent of his unleashed sexuality hanging thickly in the hot stagnant air of the small apartment. The electricity still didn't come through the wires, as there was no background noise from the household appliances, and the TV's built-in clock didn't flash in the darkness. From somewhere nearby, either another apartment, or perhaps one of the houses on the block, he could hear the muddled cries of lovers passion occasionally rattling the silence.

Only then did Bastian realize that his head could move. Slowly, cautiously, he tested his limbs, finding they were no longer bound. Carefully, he lifted himself to a sitting position, almost literally peeling himself from the wet sheet beneath him. Somehow, Bastian made himself stand beside the bed, then feel around for a nearby flashlight. Once he found it and had some light at last, he looked at the bed, ashamed and embarrassed at the massive pools of wetness upon the sheet, with a noticeable _lake_ between the thigh prints.

"It was real," he whispered to himself, thinking about the supernatural experience - at least what he could remember of it.

The sound of the radio returning to life startled Bastian out of his thoughts. When he turned on the bathroom sink, he was pleased to feel the cold refreshing water which had been trapped within during the maddening lack of electricity. He instantly grabbed a handful of water and splashed it on his face, allowing the cool air from within the room to flow past his sticky skin and cool him from the outside while the water rejuvenated his drying skin.

Another masculine cry from a nearby spot caused his mind to return to the unusually intimate events. What grabbed his mind's attention was the heartening _voice_ , familiar yet unknown:

"This is for being a true friend to me, Bastian."

Then it suddenly dawned on him: it was the voice of the one who called him to Fantastica and became his closest friend when he was twelve! That he would be visited again by his loyal warrior friend after all these years thrilled him, but that his Green Skin friend could be so stealthy that the fingers could feel so real confused him immensely.

"This is for your faith and friendship so long ago. This is the best way I know to honor you."

Bastian nearly panicked. Did that mean that his friend Atreyu was potentially in trouble? Was his beloved Fantastica in danger?

He closed the window, turned on the air conditioning, turned on the lights, changed the sheets, took a longed for shower, turned off the lights, and went to bed - this time to gain welcome sleep, and hopefully to find some answers in his newly made dreams.


End file.
